Make Believe
by Homicide Genius
Summary: Hanna's first real case as a paranormal investigator leaves him devastated, yet determined. Series.
1. Cross

He wasn't that bad, really. He just liked to have friends, and Rosalie was just perfect. She played piano very well for a twelve year old, and he enjoyed singing along. It was her parents that didn't understand. He had cautioned her to hide, as he had, because he did not like Rosalie's parents. Well, they had their moments. As Nora and Jacob staggered down the dark steps, Rosalie hurried to finish the last of her Minuet, her fingers slipping over keys with practised ease. He had ducked into the space between the piano and the wall, as it was dark enough, and if he pressed his ear to the large black antique, he could hear exactly every note Rosalie aimed to play, even though it was rushed and inperfect, it was a symphony to his ears. He hummed along until Nora's screeching voice interrupted Rosalie's playing alltogether. Jacob wrenched his daughter from the piano and the trio took her back up the night-fogged steps, presumably to her room. Rosalie always had trouble sleeping, but he always tried to be there for her. He ran a hand through his hair when he discovered the piano fiasco was his fault. He knew he had to be careful - the couple thought he had gone. It would not be wise to contradict that belief, as it would result in another visit from the investigator.

-{Three Years Earlier}-

Simply put, he was careful to always stay out of Nora and Jacob's sight after that first day. Not the piano incident - she would have screamed and he would have grabbed a gun if they'd seen him. No, the first day was absolutely terrible. He shuddered and pushed the thought from his mind, only hoping that Rosalie didn't remember it as well as he did. Since she had an imgination, Rosalie had always been creative, willing, and optimistic. But as she got older, it became clearer and clearer to everyone that her sleep deprivation wasn't _just _sleep deprivation. That was around the time he and Rosalie met, and they were rather loud at first, building couch cusion forts, cooking in the kitchen, and having tickle fights. But after Nora snuffed that fun, they had moved on to much quieter activities. He had listened in on the parent's conversations - talks of screaming at night, of nightmares, evil spirits, and of faults and things lost. And sometimes, he knew Rosalie listened, too. Once it was bad, even though he knew she wouldn't understand why her mother was crying about a 'stillbirth' because the child didn't know what that was. In times like those, he would wrap his arm around Rosalie's shoulders and she would fling her wiry arms around his waist. He didn't mind that she sobbed into his coat.

There were other coats.

December passed them, leaving it's snow on the ground for January to enjoy, and Nora and Jacob became still more worried about Rosalie's sleeping habits. They had tried many specialists, even a religious man, but no one could keep the nightmares away for long. But one day, when the two were walking along the city's sidewalks, they were met with a man. He was old and poor, it seemed, and Nora cowered before him and Jacob wrapped his arms around his wife. The elderly man said nothing, but handed them a single card. Even though Jacob had hardly raised his hand, it seemed...Eager to be there. As if it was a perfect fit to his work-worn palms. When he looked down at it with a raised brow, he read the few words on it with a skeptical tone;

"Hanna Falk Cross, #306," He flipped it over before speaking again. "Paranormal Investigator...Why would I - ?"

Too late - the geezer was gone, leaving a startled Nora and Jacob on the frozen sidewalk, alone and shivering in that faceless crowd as they stared down at the card that would probably be Rosalie's best shot at a good eight hours.

* * *

Finding the woman was the hardest part. They had to climb a few flights of stairs, only to find they'd had the wrong building, before they got to the third one, which turned out to be the right one. Jacob was careful to help his tired wife up the stairs, as she was very fragile given the circumstances. When finally they reached door three hundred and six, they only stood and allowed the silence to grip the hallway, as if hoping that the creaking floorboards under them would be as loud as any knock or doorbell. They were, however, sadly disappointed. Jacob had taken one for the team, forced to break the ominous silence by knocking on the thin, wooden door. A groggy snore met them halfway, as well as a few more moments' silence. The redhead _man _was completely alone, and he looked...Rather peaked.

Finding out the woman wasn't a woman was the second hardest part. Second, as in Jacob was udderly confused as to why his name was Hanna. It was okay - everyone was. Nora, on the other hand, was more interested in his middle name. Which was funny because Hanna had always thought his last name was the most important thing. Anyone could have a first name or a middle name - but how many people had a surname? Not _just _anyone.

After Nora and Jacob's plight was explained and Hanna was given several important details, none of which including a stillbirth, which would later be so mind-numbingly important. The investigator ran his hand through his scarlet hair and told the couple he would be by in a day to give everything a look. He assured them that their problem was paranormal, although there were many things that could mess with someone's dreams. He could have narrowed it down, however, if he'd had access to a few more key details.

But, oh _well_.

* * *

"They wanna get rid of you, Skeery."

It had been a quick statement, though Rosalie had been careful to make it sound just the right amount of harsh. She was not taking the situation lightly - she'd been sure to listen in on her parent's conversations, and had gotten quite a bit of information. She had discovered that they had hired an investigator, someone by the name of Cross. They talked about how they had mistaken his gender, but that was of little interest to Rosalie as she sat across from her only friend, who was in danger of leaving her. Who else would she tell her secrets to? Who else would she play games with? Who else would smooth her hair and sing to her whenever she needed them to? Keeping Skeery had become her life's mission, it seemed. But when the investigator did show up, it would be a bit difficult to hide her friend. He was extremely tall, and had to duck to get through the doors. He also had unnaturally long arms, but that was just another reason Rosalie loved her best friend.

He was different.

And maybe she couldn't tell anyone, including her loving (yet clueless) parents, but having a secret was like having candy when you weren't supposed to. Not only was it sweet, but it was yours, and no one else could ever know about it. That was the melty goodness that she associated with her self-named friend, minus the ruined chocolate-stained pockets. He was her hershey bar, and she inteded to keep the situation that way.

-x-

"Uh - the winow's open."

Rosalie listened from the top of the carpeted steps, her hand wavering over the open laundry elevator and/or chute, a small white string in her hands. Her dreams were the problem, so the inspector or whatever would be inspecting the things that she was around the most. She and Skeery had devised a little plan a few evenings ago, and they were both delighted to find the other growing more clever all the time. As the investigator stared blankly at her piano, Rosalie was careful to peek around the corner at the top of the staircase, while trying to keep her short arm as close to the laundry chute as possible. She had always done things like that, things she thought spies did, but she had grown accustomed to having Skeery's long arms do half the dirty work. As silence ran rampant throughout the usually bustling home, Rosalie assumed her parents threw him a questioning look in regards to the window. They loved it cold.

"Uh...There's like, ninety feet of snow on the ground...How can you stand it?"

Rosalie waited, the sweat growing in small beads on her forehead and it her tiny, string-clutching hands. She craned her neck to see the investigator, while wishing she lived in a cartoon. How come Scooby-Doo could peek around a corner with just his eyes? He made it look so easy, and yet it was such a daunting task for a ten-year-old. Perhaps years of practice had trained the dog. Rosalie quickly attuned her thoughts back to the investigator, whose eyes were wandering dangerously close to her hiding spot, but as she was crouched down, it would have been difficult to move without falling back or moving fast enough to catch his eye. So, like a chamillion, Rosalie slapped her cheek against the wall and tried to keep her face as straight as possible.

Unfortunately, Rosalie's brilliant disguise only seemed to attract the gaze of the sleepy investigator, and she quickly found herself staring at him as he stared right back. Her eyes narrowed as a tired grin slowly crept onto the redhead's face. Rosalie stuck her tounge out and tugged on the string, which she had cleverly tied to a vase in the kitchen and had taken the end of the string with her through the laundry elevator. Below, an expected smashing of the hideous lilac vase invaded the penetrating silence. Everyone, including the investigator, ran right for the kitchen. Rosalie was quick to yank the string so that it would pull back up through the laundry elevator. She grinned and rubbed her hands together and listened intently to the conversation below.

"Woah - you've got something worse than I thought..."

"But it was just a vase - "

"Uh...The Paranormal beings we're worrying about usually aren't violent at all, much less enough to break something..."

Next, Rosalie had to fall down the stairs. Then she would claim she was pushed, and her parents would (hopefully) think that Cross's presence was bothering the house's fung shui or whatever and make him leave. The short and scrawny nine year old was having second thoughts as she stared down the long staircase, however. She had fallen down it once before, which was why her parents had carpeting put on it, but still she stalled. Maybe that vase would be enough? Rosalie shuffled her feet back and forth, unable to decide.

"...I'll go check. Wait here."

It was Cross, and Rosalie puffed out her cheeks in desperation. If she was going to make her move, she had better get on it. That's when the worst thing possible happened. Skeery walked out of the room, obviously curious as to whom the voice belonged to, and took his usual place behind Rosalie. As Cross's shadow became more stout against the beige wall at the bottom of the steps, she knew it was too late to get Skeery out of there without causing a scene. Instead, she stood on her tippy-toes, as well and high as she could, even though she didn't even cover up half of Skeery. The radiant blue eyes of the investigator didn't seem to mind Skeery at all. Instead, a sad but satisfied smile replaced his nervous expression. He slowly climbed the stairs, and with a voice Rosalie had to strain her ears to hear he said,

"Just as I thought - an _Imaginary Friend_. You are _so _lucky."

* * *

What's this? A new series!  
I edited a little too, hooray!  
BUM BUM BUUUM.

Okayso - there won't be a whole lotta chapters to this one, but I think I might get 5+ out of it. Maaaybe. I don't want it to be just about Rosalie and Skeery, but about Hanna, who doesn't have a zombie partner and is getting over some residual pain from the surgery that resulted in the scars on his chest. You'll notice how 'tired' he is. Don't worry - it'll be explained.

Hanna is Not a Boy's Name belongs to Tessa Stone.

Rosalie and Skeery belong to me.


	2. Love Me Dead

Rosalie shifted her weight and put her hands on her hips, like her mother did when she was angry. As much as she might deny it, she was very much like Nora.

"He's _not _Imaginary."

Cross laughed brightly, but his voice was hoarse. Rosalie could see his knees wobbling and noticed the twitch in his happy expression. He climbed the last of the steps and tried to sit close to Rosalie, who took a seat next to him. Skeery stayed behind her, clearly afraid of the newcomer. Rosalie looked the investigator up and down, realizing for the first time just how scrawny he was.

"Not to you. And if you're not careful, not to your parents, either."

"...What is _that _supposed to mean?"

"An Imaginary Friend is a result of trauma, loneliness, that sorta thing. Like all good things in this world, an Imaginary Friend has a lifespan. The older they get, the more visible they become. Soon, your parents will be able to see him."

"Wait - does that mean Skeery can die?"

"_You _named _him_? Wow- ...uh, yeah, right. I'm afraid so. But if we tell your folks-"

"_No_. They can't know."

Rosalie was adamant. Hanna knew that face well, so he only smiled and ran his hand through his hair.

"Okay. Hm, I'll have to lie...When your parents start to see him, gimme a call, okay?"

The wiry investigator handed her a small, bent piece of paper. Hanna Falk Cross, #306, Private Investigator. And a phone number. The two exchanged satisfied looks and Hanna left her to talk to her Friend while he lied to her parents.

"It'll be okay, Skeery...That's a girl's name."

He only nodded and wrapped his arms around Rosalie as she muttered to herself, stuffing the business card into her pocket.

* * *

-{Three Years Later}-

"Skeery's not talking a lot. I'm kinda scared."

"What's his favorite thing to eat?"

"Chocolate."

She could hear a small, pitifully shaky laugh through the other end of the phone. She also heard several other things in the backround.

"You should get him some. Friends like presents. Make it a suprise."

Rosalie nodded, and held the phone between her shoulder and her ear and wrote down three simple words in pen on her palm. Chocolate. Suprise. Birthday.

"Ow! Jeez, Worth, don't you have any _anesthetic_?"

Rosalie raised a brow and dropped the pen, curling her knees to her chest and running her hand through Skeery's hair, who sat on the floor next to the bed. He had very acute hearing, and he jumped in suprise when Hanna shouted.

"Where are you, Cross?"

"Call me Hanna. I'm just getting a checkup."

Rosalie paused as someone, presumably the doctor, said something about putting the phone down for something. She waited until the rustling on the receiver indicated that Hanna was picking the phone up again. She rubbed her face impatiently, waiting for Hanna's breathing to resume.

"I happen to know that Anesthetic is not _commonly _used for check-ups. What's _really _going on?"

Hanna sighed into the receiver, she assumed it had something more or less to do with the surgery than her remark.

"Ah - just had a bit of an accident..."

"Dammit, Hanna, put the freakin' phone down so I don't stitch yer nose to yer ear."

"Doc's orders, Rosalie."

"Bye, Hanna."

_Click._

* * *

Skeery eyed the box cautiously before Rosalie pulled out a truffle. Hazelnut. Skeery's mouth was practically watering.

Rosalie sat down next to her best friend and set the box between the two of them. Skeery took the first truffle and took tiny little bites out of it with his sharp teeth. Rosalie loved to watch her friend eat - he would spin the chocolate around with two long, wiry fingers and take small chunks out of it as it rotated until it was finally gone. When he finished the first one, his glanced darted from Rosalie to the box, as if he was silently asking, until she smiled and nudged the small cardboard container closer to his leather shoe. He smiled and unwrapped another, handing the golden foil to Rosalie, who had the habit of smoothing out the creases in them.

They sat in that silence for a while, Rosalie watching as her friend happily carved down four more truffles, and Skeery occasionally grinning at her and carving pictures into the chocolate with his sharp teeth. When he would finish, Rosalie would clap quietly and laugh, marvelling at Skeery's Teeth Art before he devoured them. That went on for fifteen minutes before Skeery pulled out the last hazelnut truffle and held it out for Rosalie.

"I couldn't. They're yours, Skeery."

"Rosalie," He always seemed to have trouble with talking. His voice was incredibly soft, and he had trouble pronouncing things correctly. "Please."

Skeery stared up at her with his black eyes, until finally, Rosalie hesitantly reached out and took the last chocolate, slowly enjoying it while Skeery watched her, his smile growing. She looked away. Sometimes, Skeery was actually scary, well - not _scary_. He just made her feel like she shouldn't look at him. Like she was poisonous, or something.

"Thanks, Skeery."

There was a strange silence again. Usually Skeery would rub his face against her head, like a cat, or make that popping noise with his jaw. But there was nothing. Not even the long arm draped around her shoulder moved.

"Mister Skeery?"

Nothing. Rosalie looked up, worry flashing over her face. She grabbed Skeery's black coat and shook him a little, but he didn't respond. Rosalie squirmed out from under his heavy arm to get a better look at his face. His head was supported by the side of her antique dresser, his eyes were wide open, and so was his mouth. He looked to be sleeping with his eyes open. Rosalie would have checked for a heartbeat, but that was the problem.

He didn't _have _one to begin with.

The white plastic phone was in her tiny hand in seconds. She knew the number by heart.

"Hanna? Hanna - I need you!"

* * *

"Oh, shit. Oh _shit_, oh shit -"

Hanna cursed as soon as he saw Skeery. He ran forward, shovelled through his pocket, and pulled out what appeared to be a glass bottle of very thick purple liquid. Like the stuff you might see in a lava lamp. He poured the gunk down Skeery's throat, but even after fifteen minutes of that, the creature did not respond. After fifty more pointless tries, Mister Skeery was very clearly dead. Hanna stepped back, and turned his head to look at Rosalie, who stood in the doorway with her mouth covered, sobbing terribly.

Luckily, Nora and Jacob had both gone out shopping for their daughter's birthday, so there wasn't a need to quiet Rosalie. The investigator and the child took a seat on the floor across from the Friend, and Hanna Cross watched as Rosalie cried her eyes out. When finally she began to calm down Hanna smiled sadly at her, and she gave him the same shaky smile back.

"Wanna talk about him?"

She nodded.

"Wanna know why I named him Skeery?"

Actually, this was something Hanna was curious to know. Usually, a Friend actually has a name before they meet their Companion, but in Rosalie's case, Skeery seemed to like his name. Embraced it, even. Hanna nodded and reached over to her bedside table, where a box of Kleenexes sat, and handed her one. After she finished blowing her nose, Rosalie smiled in Skeery's direction.

"I met him in our kitchen, stealing food. It was funny because my mom didn't see him...So I got him out and took him upstairs, and as he ate, we talked. You know - back when he _could _talk...I asked him if he'd a name, and he told me no. So while he stuffed his face," Rosalie took a pause to let out a snort of laughter and Hanna felt a smile grow on his face. "I decided to rattle off names while he ate, and I'd picked the one that made him laugh."

"'Doc. Tom. Pollyanna. Daisy. Mister. Skeery.'"

Hanna grinned when Rosalie reached the last name and she let out her own little giggle.

"He choked on an olive when I called him Skeery, because he thought I meant he was _scary_!"

The two laughed for a while, until everything calmed down again. The sound of a car pulling into the driveway could be heard.

"I always kept track of how much he smiled after that...Please come back soon, Hanna."

"Sure thing, Rosie."

* * *

I know what you're thinking.

It's over, isn't it?

Nope.  
Also - I just fell in Ludo all over again.


	3. Zombie

"That stuff tasted _terrible. _Remind me why we had to go through with that, again?"

His voice wasn't as hoarse. Rosalie rolled her eyes and helped dust off Skeery's fancy coat. The tall man smiled and stretched like a cat, clearly appreciating the help. She looked him up and down before hastily pulling out drawers and opening boxes. She pulled out her favorite black winter coat and light blue scarf that looked like a carpet on her.

"We're leaving. And now that Hanna's case is solved, he won't be coming back. No one is in our way anymore."

Her voice was choked with tears. She hated to admit it, but she had come to love her home with Nora and Jacob. But it wasn't the home she wanted. Hanna had shown her that. Skeery put a hand on her shoulder and looked down at her with a weary expression. He had to go where she told him, had to do what she told him, but that didn't mean he didn't look both ways before crossing the street.

"Are you sure this is what you want, Rosie?"

Hesitation. In the mirror, Rosalie could see Skeery's worried face, and his curly brown hair that twisted around his face and his simple brown eyes.

"I'm sure, Skeery."

* * *

Four years passed. _She would have been sixteen_, Hanna thought idly. Contrary to what Rosalie believed, Hanna did go back after Skeery's death, because he said he would. Her parents told him everything they knew, and Hanna had come to believe that she was lost without Skeery. Many kids were after losing an Imaginary Friend. Hanna found himself wishing he'd done more, because Rosalie's disappearance was certainly preventable. He found himself grieving her.

It didn't help that her parents were constantly inviting him over.

He'd visited Worth more and more after that, finding it harder and harder to stay in the apartment. The doctor would roll his eyes, light up a smoke, crack a joke, and then insist it wasn't Hanna's fault. Lamont would, when he was around, put on a similar show. It wasn't for the reassurance that Hanna kept going back for.

Before Hanna met Rosalie, before he even moved into number 306, he met Luce Worth. Hanna's chest was in staples, his face was covered in bruises and cuts, and he seemed to be in quite a bit of pain. Being the nice guy that he was, Luce Worth took the kid in, and did what he could. The surgery had clearly been performed with paranormal instruments, so nothing Worth had with him could do much. But Hanna found ways to make it better. Worth told him to check back often, that he would be in pain for a while, that they would find who did it to him. So Hanna held on. He decided to take on a job as a paranormal investigator, and when Worth demanded why, Hanna only responded, "to be prepared next time."

Hanna took friends were he found them, under Lamont's advisement. That was certainly not a good time to be picky.

Rosalie had become a friend to Hanna, in the few years they contacted each other. She had been his first case (aside from helping Lamont deliver stuff) as a paranormal investigator. One way or the other, Worth found out about her. Both he and Lamont uncharacteristically tried to make him feel better, to no avail. He didn't know why he felt so guilty about the whole thing - he hardly _knew _her. He couldn't have done anything, so why did he blame himself?

Hanna had started and finished several more cases, none of them of much interest to him. He became very distant with clients. It wasn't until the next year, on May 9th, Rosalie's birthday, did the interesting things begin to happen. Hanna was sitting on his mattress, his head in his hands, wondering about her. Where did she go? Did she remember him? Was she even alive? He became fed up with those questions, he hated himself for thinking her leaving was his fault, and decided to take her advice.

"_I'm not faking. I'm genuinely happy. I'm always looking for reasons to smile, and you should too, Hanna."_

He became determined. He made it his goal to smile every day. Worth told him the pain would go away from the surgery, so there was a reason. He would get better. He would smile again. Right.

Hanna fell into a light sleep, occasionally waking up, forcing himself to smile whenever he moved and his chest didn't hurt. He forced himself to remeber what Worth told him. That he'd be okay. They'd find who did it to him. They had to.

Then came the knocking. Hanna jumped a foot into the air, leaping off his mattress, sending debris flying in a desperate attempt to grab his glasses.

"'Lo?"

"_Mister _Cross?"

* * *

_Still _not over! Please review! HiNaBN belongs to Tessa Stone! Blah!

I've got the epilouge to write - which is actually more important to the story than I thought it would be.

Here's the plan - we're going to see a few short bits from a few character's perspectives. A few things that were referenced earlier in the story will make more sense. Rosalie's real affect on Hanna and the rest of the cast. And maybe Skeery's, too. UNFORTUNATELY - I couldn't find a spot for Adelaide. So she's not there.

But we'll start out with Gallahad.


End file.
